Sonia
I trudged across the courtyard weaving through students sprawled on the grass or hunched over on laptops. MJ floated in my mind as I walked, and my chest tightened. Our relationship was a maze of contradictions. One moment we were kissing; another we were throwing words at each other like knives. She always led charge in those fights, her tongue digging into vulnerabilities I didn't know I had. The conversation from earlier still hovered, we hadn't hashed out anything useful, we never do.
“Heyy!” Aliza's voice jolted me from my thoughts as I entered the lecture hall.
“Hey” I said, pulling her into a hug.
“I missed you, you didn't even say goodbye,” she said, hitting me with her book playfully.
“Sorry I was in a rush,” I lied. Truthfully, I was just running from another confrontation with MJ.
We sat down at the back. “How was home?”
The question stung more than it should have. Memories of my father, distant and disinterested, bubbled to the face. He'd drown his sorrows in alcohol, barely noticing my presence. “Could be better.”
She patted my arm gently, reading the situation. “It will be okay.”
I swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay put. “Well, let's hope he doesn't die from drinking too much.”
The lecture began soon after, our professor, a stern man in his thirties. His neatly trimmed beard framed a face that rarely smiled, and his sharp suit seemed out of place in the heat.
“So how was home?” I was bored of listening to market cycles. “Usually, my dad had a fight with Chris.”
“Why?”
“His lifestyle,” she says, air quoting.
“Katana, Ngugi!” His voice snapped us out of our daze. Everyone turned to look at us as he glared, irritation etched on his face.
“If you want to talk, go outside. Some people know what brought them to school.”
We sat for the rest of class trying to avoid his wrath, though it seemed he took great pleasure in targeting us. By the time the lecture ended, my cheeks burned in humiliation of being the butt of the room's laughter.
“I’m never sitting next to you again,” Aliza said, as we filed out of class.
“What! Why?”
“Because the professor picks on you!” she teased.
“No, he doesn't. He is just mean.”
Kora's tall frame intercepted my walk to the cafeteria. She looped her arm through mine. “I missed you.”
The cafeteria was a cacophony of voices and clinking plates. The air buzzed with the mix of fried chicken, fries and samosas. We found a table in the corner, and Kora launched into the tales of her weekend adventures, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Why did MJ ask if we slept together?” She asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
I choked on my soda. “She asked that?”
She raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Yeah, she confronted me Saturday morning.”
The day she sent the voicemail.”I'm sorry, I don't know where she got that.”
We still haven't gotten to talking that far. “It's just like her to assume things.”
Later that evening, as the day gave way to the night, I returned to my room. My things were different, I could tell. Not long after MJ entered with a box of pizza in her hands. Her dark eyes danced with mischief as she placed the box on the bed.
“I got us dinner, and before you start asking for my account details you can buy next time.”
I couldn't help but remember the stupid fight we had weeks ago. “Thanks,” I mumbled laughing.
Amid eating the power went out suddenly. “Typical,” MJ muttered, grabbing her phone for light.
Several complaints about the girls hostels have been launched to the administration office but nothing has been done till now.
“Now-what?” I asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Dance for me,” she said, her voice teasing.
“Like you did for Kora, but better.”
“— there's not even music.”
“I have Spotify.”
My heart raced as I stood, anticipation thrumming in the air. The faint light from the window cast shadows on MJ’s face, highlighting the smirk playing on her lips.
“Why don't I just give you a lap dance,” I said, getting carried away by the moment.
Her eyes darkened, and she leaned back, her arms folded behind her head. “Whatever you want.”
I climbed onto the bed, straddling her hips. Her hands slide up my thigh, sending shivers through me. As I moved in time with the beat playing faintly on her phone, the tension between us coiled tighter, and her hands were everywhere, igniting parts of me that felt dead. With every gyrated movement of my hips on her crotch the space between us diminished. Before I knew it our lips were moving in one rhythm. “God,” she breathed, peppering wet kisses down my neck. My hands gripped her hair tightly, scared that if I let go this moment would end.
I don't want it to end.
She flipped us over, trapping me between her legs. She pulled the oversized shirt up to my neck, molding my breasts. I was writhing under her, the pressure building at the pit of my stomach aching for her touch in areas that have remained dormant for months. “Yeah.”
Her thumbs brushed my nipples, making me let out frustrated moans from their sensitivity. “I have thought about this so many times,” she says, her mouth sucking on one of my nipples. I forget to breathe by that statement alone.
Her caress is soft and I'm melting under her touch. “You're so wet,” she breathes, her hand inside my panties. The knocking on the door feels surreal, MJ ignores it and continues rubbing my mound with her palm. Her touch is gentle and warm, a big contrast to what I had with Kian.
“I know you're in there, open this door.”
The voice is loud and firm. MJ stills pulling my shirt over my exposed body. She licks her fingers and her feet making it out of the bed. “What do you want, Mrs Ndemwa?” She asks, her voice tinged with annoyance.
“For you to open this door,” she barks.
MJ unlocks it and her flashlight falls on our faces. “I can see why you stopped hopping like in a different girl's bed.” Her words are laced with sarcasm, her gaze locked on me. I pull my shirt further down my thighs, my cheeks burning.
“Just say what brought you here.”
“Go to Mwami’s hall, there's an announcement.”
Her heels click over the cement as she walks away. I dash to my bed and put on a trouser getting out of the door. I can't deal with having this conversation right now.

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The Sweetest Fruit ( Tomboy 🏳️🌈Love Story )
Romance[18+] Sports College Romance. Cover art by@emilycatewrites